


temper, yield

by plingo_kat



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: M/M, Shuri cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: “Eager to get started, are you?” M’Baku bares his teeth.T’Challa’s shoulders tighten; his eyes slide away from M’Baku’s face. First blood to him, then.





	temper, yield

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: scenario which implies dubcon but everyone is fairly enthusiastic about consent (in the end)
> 
> Written for the black panther kink meme [prompt](https://blackpantherkink.dreamwidth.org/1637.html?thread=6501#cmt6501): "m'baku/t'challa, ritual sex. So the ritual combat challenge is only complete when the loser yields or dies, right? This calls for an AU where 'yield' means the loser has to get fucked by the winner."

After seventeen hours in Birnin Zana, most of them stuck inside a single suite within the royal palace, M’Baku is ready to smack the next person he sees with his staff. Unfortunately when the king finally walks in M’Baku is unarmed; he doesn’t think he has a chance barehanded when T’Challa once again wears the mantle of the blessing of Bast.

“King,” M’Baku greets. T’Challa accepts the sardonic, mocking lilt to the word with little more than a tip of his head. 

“M’Baku,” he replies. “Are you ready?”

“Eager to get started, are you?” M’Baku bares his teeth.

T’Challa’s shoulders tighten; his eyes slide away from M’Baku’s face. First blood to him, then.

“I bow to the tradition of our people,” T’Challa says. So he’ll show claws in victory, too – maybe he’ll make a good king after all.

M’Baku acknowledges this hit with a grunt. “No, I’m not ready. Nobody told me when you would be done with the ritual.”

Theoretically, none but the royal family and the Taifa Ngao understand the process of imbuing Bast’s avatar with the heart-shaped herb, but over the centuries it has become legend, and widely spread. The king drinks the herb’s essence and lies buried, dreaming with the dead anywhere from mere hours to a full day. It’s likely that nobody told M’Baku when T’Challa would visit him because they did not know.

“Oh,” T’Challa says, awkward. “If you like, I could come back in an hour.”

M’Baku shakes his head. “Ten minutes.” He leaves without another word – let T’Challa stew. It will give him a taste of what M’Baku has been dealing with.

The suite’s bathroom is fully stocked. M’Baku explored it the second hour he’d been confined and found the expected supplies in neat rows of absurd abundance: lubricant, protective spray, dildos, a full cabinet dedicated to each. He had laughed, and left.

The fourth hour he returned and started opening jars. The lubricants came in several viscosities and scents, anywhere from a thick sort of water to solid paste, floral to fruity to herbal. The dildos varied from metal to wood to plastics. He let himself feel smug superiority at the obviously inferior woodworking of non-Jabari and moved on. The sprays he also left alone. The lubricants, he sampled and categorized. Now he opens that particular cabinet and grabs the jar on the top rightmost row.

T’Challa stands with a book in his hands when M’Baku reappears.

“Ah.” His fingers tighten on the book’s covers. “That was quick.”

“Snooping, were you? Should have expected it. Tch. Cats.” M’Baku casts a derisive glance at T’Challa’s hands. The king holds the one book M’Baku left out on the table.

T’Challa blinks and sets the book down. “I did not take you for a poetry man.”

“Hmph. What do you know about me? We fought for a quarter hour. Our acquaintance since you entered this room has doubled in length. You haven’t had _time_ to learn whether I like poetry or not.”

“True.” T’Challa concedes gracefully, at least. He eyes M’Baku with an appropriate wariness. “You… are ready now?”

M’Baku spreads his arms to display his body, bare of all but a robe. “Are _you_?”

That stirs the panther up; he prowls forward, chin lifted high. “I am ready. Come on, then.”

M’Baku follows.

It’s almost certain to not be a _terrible_ experience. Despite M’Baku’s doubts, T’Challa seems an honorable sort. Flawed with too much kindness, obviously; it is left to fate to determine whether that will temper to steeled mercy or crack wide into splintered bitterness. In any case he will not look down on M’Baku for being forced to yield. He is not that kind of man.

T’Challa moves with sleek grace, muscles bunching under his skin. His face is alive and alert. If he is as skilled in bed as he is in battle, this portion of the challenge will not be a significant hardship.

M’Baku smirks when T’Challa hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Need assistance rising to the occasion?”

T’Challa rolls his eyes. “Perhaps I am inhibited by your ‘jokes.’”

“Come shut me up, then,” M’Baku says.

T’Challa obeys; he fists his hands in the lapels of the robe and pulls M’Baku down. His mouth is as plush as it looks, pressed hard against M’Baku’s own, parting as M’Baku bites down.

“You--!”

M’Baku grins. He felt how T’Challa reacted to the sharp sting of teeth: he pulled M’Baku _in_ before pushing him away.

“Me?”

“Get on the bed.” T’Challa tries to glower, but his austerity is undermined by his swollen mouth and eyes bright with desire. “Hands and knees.”

M’Baku follows this directive only enough to kneel, then turns to look at T’Challa over his shoulder. “I have a better idea. How about you lay down here on your back, and I be in charge?”

“I think,” T’Challa says, stripping out of his garments, “that if I did that, you would never respect me as king.”

“Maybe,” M’Baku allows. He eyes all the bare skin revealed as T’Challa removes the last piece of his clothing. “Really? You’re going to fold that?”

“I think,” T’Challa says mildly, “that if I did not, you would laugh at me when I had to leave in rumpled clothing.”

“Oh, definitely,” M’Baku says. “Fine. Are you done yet? Let’s get this over with.”

“Who now is less prepared?” T’Challa says, and stares pointedly at the robe still on M’Baku. “’Also, I note that you are still not in the position I requested.”

“What if I told you that if you wanted that, you would have to make me?”

“I would argue that I already made you and that is why we are in this situation. So? Will you allow us to do this so we may get on with our lives?”

“So romantic,” M’Baku mocks, but he does turn around and situate himself.

“This is a ritual, not a seduction,” T’Challa says. “Here – let me.”

He uncaps the jar of lubricant, and M’Baku suppresses a flinch at the cool touch of fingers on the base of his spine. T’Challa is gentle but clinical; he presses against M’Baku like it’s nothing more than an exam. M’Baku endures for perhaps a minute before he decides he won’t have it.

“Stop,” he says, rolling over onto his side. T’Challa jerks back, mouth set and eyes wide, concerned. “No, you weren’t—just, come here.”

T’Challa watches him, wary, but cedes easily enough when M’Baku wraps a hand around his shoulder to pull him in. This time he kisses M’Baku tentatively, just fleeting brushes of lips, there and away until M’Baku growls and cups the back of his neck to hold him still. Then it’s all there for the taking, T’Challa’s hot mouth open and yielding, tongue agile and clever. They are both panting when he finally leans back.

“Better,” M’Baku declares quietly.

T’Challa blinks dazed eyes at him. “I thought that you did not want…”

“Not like that,” M’Baku says. He trails his fingers down the bare skin of T’Challa’s shoulder. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it properly.” 

“And what do you consider proper?” T’Challa begins to smile.

“Why don’t you let me show you?”

T’Challa chuckles, muffled into their next kiss. M’Baku nips at the arched bow of that mobile mouth and T’Challa purrs, a hand landing on M’Baku’s thigh and kneading at the muscle there. M’Baku tugs him closer, settling more comfortably along the mattress so he can widen his knees; the movement grazes the sensitive skin along his inner thigh along T’Challa’s hip.

He can enjoy this, M’Baku realizes. He _is_ enjoying it.

“What,” T’Challa mumbles, possibly in response to MBaku’s smile. He noses down to the hollow of Mbaku’s throat and licks. “’s this…?”

“Stop asking,” M’Baku says. “If you do something I don’t like, I’ll let you know.”

T’Challa allows himself a faint scrape of teeth.

“There you go,” M’Baku says, encouraging. The hint of condescension is almost entirely involuntary. “O king.”

This time M’Baku receives a true bite. He jolts, skin prickling and hair standing up in reaction in a rolling wave down his body. T’Challa obviously feels it too, because he hums approvingly and presses closer. Now they are finally skin to skin, not just touching with a palm or kiss but aligned with T’Challa between M’Baku’s knees, his arms braced along M’Baku’s ribs, his chest against M’Baku’s chest. The one conspicuous place they are not touching is their hips.

He grins; the panther shows his fangs again. M’Baku smooths his hand down the elegant curve of T’Challa’s spine and down his flank, admiring, then grips a handful of the muscle and squeezes.

T’Challa jerks back, an affronted look on his face. M’Baku has to laugh.

“You can’t blame a man for enjoying himself.”

“I’ll show you enjoyment,” T’Challa growls. There’s a wicked slant to his eyes, a playful curl to his mouth. He presses his knee higher and grinds deliberately down.

M’Baku isn’t quite quick enough to stifle a groan. T’Challa grins at him and moves again, building up a slow, rolling rhythm that matches their harsh breathing. He makes an approving noise when M’Baku kneads at his ass, pulling him in tighter with his next thrust, and his own hand creeps lower until it splays over M’Baku’s hip. His biceps look particularly good at that angle, tense and defined.

“I’m still waiting,” M’Baku says. “Are y—“

He’s cut off by how T’Challa closes his hand over both their cocks. It’s something that M’Baku has noticed before, but never as much as now: T’Challa runs hot. At least several degrees hotter than an unenhanced human, and now is no exception. His cock is a solid brand against M’Baku’s, his palm a constriction of warmth. M’Baku can feel himself begin to sweat and spreads his legs a fraction wider.

And then T’Challa begins to move again, an aching grind as his hand squeezes them together, slick and _too much_ , too intense, too intimate. M’Baku can’t tear his eyes away from T’Challa’s flushed cheeks and lax mouth, the way his chin tips up when his palm catches on the head of his cock.

“Are you even,” M’Baku says, trying and failing not to sound breathless, “going to last long enough to fuck me, _your Majesty_?”

“We’ll find out.” T’Challa bares his teeth in something too wild to truly be called a smile. “Or is that a hint, M’Baku?”

The sound of his name, exhaled in the gravel of T’Challa’s pleasure-rough voice, hits M’Baku somewhere deep in his gut. He grips T’Challa hard and thrusts up, watching avidly as T’Challa chokes on his next breath.

“Fine,” T’Challa gasps, still stripping their cocks with one hand. A bead of sweat has started it’s shining path down his temple. He pushes back, straining against M’Baku’s hold until M’Baku lets him go to skate his palms over tense thighs, thumbing the sharp jut of a hipbone. “Knees up.”

M’Baku thinks of arguing but decides it isn’t really worth it. He raises a knee and plays his other leg out, heel hooked over the back of one of T’Challa’s calves. T’Challa stares down at him with hunger plain on his face.

“You just going to look?” M’Baku tilts his hips up and watches the shy peek of pink tongue as T’Challa wets his lips.

“No.” T’Challa bends, and–

“Fuck!” M’Baku swears, genuinely shocked as T’Challa wraps his mouth around the head of his cock. It’s clear that T’Challa is not very experienced at this; objectively M’Baku has had better. But the knowledge that the man with his head between his legs is T’Challa, the _king_ , is enough to burn under his skin, to make the shadowed sweep of eyelashes and the unpracticed heat of T’Challa’s mouth devastating.

T’Challa is more coordinated than he appears, because the finger he presses against M’Baku is slick with lubricant. He slides in only one before he raises his head with an affronted look on his face.

“You did not prepare yourself at all,” he says, accusing.

“Did I not?” M’Baku isn’t sure he can pull off innocent, particularly with his cock two inches from T’Challa’s face, but he tries his best.

“You,” T’Challa says, tone heavy with exasperation. “I can tell that you will be a terror in council.”

“When did I agree to be in cou—nngk—“

M’Baku curses himself even as he cants his hips and drops his head back onto the mattress, fingers clawed in the sheets. T’Challa had pushed another finger in, one smooth motion with no pause for M’Baku to adjust, and it’s just on the right side of too much: burn and pleasured fullness, a glancing touch to his prostate. M’Baku forgets what he was about to say.

“You’re wrong,” he pants to the ceiling, confident at least that he disagrees with whatever agenda T’Challa is trying to push upon him.

“Am I?” T’Challa says, damnably mild again, and just as M’Baku raises his head to glare he goes back to sucking cock. M’Baku decides to lie back and enjoy. Why not? All in all it will likely be less embarrassing.

After the third finger, T’Challa stops nuzzling at the base of his cock, hot breath on the tight skin of his balls, and kneels up.

“Ready?”

“I was ready at the start,” M’Baku lies. He is captivated by the wet shine over T’Challa’s lips and chin, the flush in his cheeks, the heavy anticipation in his eyes. He reaches a hand up to cradle the strong line of T’Challa’s jaw and press his thumb to the corner of his mouth. “You know, it’s really a shame you can’t just sit on me.”

T’Challa nips at his finger, laughing silently with those white teeth. “Another time, perhaps.”

They both freeze.

“…Perhaps,” M’Baku agrees, soft. He smooths his thumb over T’Challa’s lower lip.

T’Challa closes his eyes and presses a kiss to it. In the middle of all the ritual and pretense, the small gesture is achingly tender.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and then ducks his head. “All right. Lift up, please.”

M’Baku hooks one knee over his crooked elbow and T’Challa pushes in like that, bowed over M’Baku like a man swearing loyalty. The drop of sweat clinging to the sculpted ridge of his cheekbone wavers and falls. For a moment M’Baku actually thinks it’s a tear before he catches a glimpse of T’Challa’s face: furrowed brows and parted lips, eyes shut like he’s in pain, but cheeks free and clear of salt. 

When he’s all the way in, he sighs the sigh of a man coming home after a long journey.

“Move,” M’Baku demands after a moment. His erection has flagged a little but he wraps his fist around himself and tugs, clenching at the friction. How T’Challa shudders is merely a bonus.

T’Challa flicks open his eyes. They’re glazed, staring into M’Baku, _past_ M’Baku, into the core of him, the tender feeling in his breast. He rolls his hips, just stirring himself inside, and M’Baku grits his teeth against what he’s afraid will come out as a whine. By all the glories of Hanuman, will T’Challa not just _fuck_ him—

And T’Challa moves, pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting back in. M’Baku throws his head back and grinds his skull into the bed; he doesn’t hold back his groan this time. This seems to encourage T’Challa because he picks up the pace, moving faster and faster until the both of them are gasping nonsense words, snatches of curses or endearments or the other’s name, until at one particular thrust at just the right angle M’Baku strips his cock one last time and comes, blind and wordless and flying his way through his orgasm.

T’Challa stills while M’Baku comes down, chest heaving.

“Hmmmn.” M’Baku smiles lazily at T’Challa’s pained, ecstatic face. “How are you feeling, king?”

“M’Baku.” T’Challa sounds wrecked, voice ripped up and hoarse, on the knife’s edge of control.

M’Baku clenches again to see the ripple of emotion pass over T’Challa’s face.

_“M’Baku.”_

“Yes, all right.” M’Baku lifts his hand to cup T’Challa’s cheek again, and T’Challa nuzzles into it. When he comes M’Baku has a thumb pressed to his lips to catch his hitched exhale, the helpless press of his tongue.

*

Some half-hour later they finally stir from the bed. T’Challa disappears briefly into the bathroom and emerges looking vaguely traumatized; M’Baku is confused until he realizes T’Challa must have opened the dildo cabinet. He glares as M’Baku laughs.

“If you are finished,” he says in longsuffering tones, tan towel wrapped fetchingly around his waist.

“Yes, yes.” M’Baku drags himself from the bed. His limbs still feel loose even as a twinge makes itself known around his behind – it’s been a while since he laid with a man. “Now I have to wonder how brave you really are, Black Panther.”

“You shall have the chance to find out, I hope.” T’Challa looks up at him, all sincerity and big brown eyes. “The Jabari tribe has much to offer the rest of Wakanda.”

“Oh?” M’Baku drawls. “And does Wakanda have much to offer the Jabari in return?”

“Is that not what trade and diplomacy are for?”

“I suppose we’ll see,” M’Baku says, and bites the forming smile off T’Challa’s face.

*

“Oh, _Bast_.” The voice outside is feminine; M’Baku leans out far enough to catch a glimpse of the king’s brat of a sibling. “I can’t believe I’ve been waiting out here for you! I thought he might have attacked—“

“Shuri—“

“—but instead you were just—ai _ya_ , disgusting! I do not need to know about my own brother’s sex life.”

_“Shuri!”_

“What? _You_ are not the one traumatized here, by all the glories. I hope you catch some sort of terrible disease…”

M’Baku waits for them to walk out of earshot before he laughs. Perhaps the coming years will be more entertaining than he thought.

Perhaps the Jabari _will_ take an interest in Wakanda, again. It may be time.

Perhaps the king will even welcome them.

**Author's Note:**

> I WANT TO WATCH THIS MOVIE LIKE 20 MORE TIMES also whoops in the middle where i start talking about the council i forgot that this was supposed to take place at the beginning of the movie not after it was over /sobs
> 
> plingokat @ twitter


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